The shadow reached out for her, and instantly disappeared. Preach cried out. “Crow, where are you?”

Whitman lunged forward and grabbed Preach by the front of his shirt.

Preach lifted up his head. “Crow, why hast thou forsaken me?”

“In your darkest hour.” Whitman struck Preach a blow of such proportions that he collapsed onto his knees.

“The joke’s on you.” Preach’s head was swiveling from side to side. “I used you. You killed Albin and Trey for me. Lucy is right. I killed your father. That started the train of events that brought you here, now. I thought I had bound you to me. But you have crossed the line. This was one possible future, one I never believed would come to pass. Now that it has…” His grin was the rictus of a soul in eternal torment. “I have taken Lucy in your stead. Fair warning. There’s still time to turn back. Otherwise, I will command her. If you’re still determined to embrace death—a real and lasting death—she will do my bidding. She will kill you.”

He threw her the knife he had taken from her. Lucy’s face was still lifted to the rain, the drops hitting her open eyes without her blinking or flinching. Now she caught the knife deftly, without even looking at it. Her head lowered, her marble eyes fixed on Whitman, the blade leveled at his heart as she stepped toward him. Her skin was even paler than before. It had taken on a waxy texture, the rain rolling off her as if she had been made impervious to earthly elements. As if she were no longer human.

“She’s a death-dealer, my son,” Preach said from his position on his knees. “You’ll have to kill her before she kills you.”

“No,” Whitman said, “I won’t.” And shot Preach between the eyes.

Preach’s head snapped back from the percussion, then righted itself on his neck. “Not enough,” he said. “Not nearly enough.” The bullet had made a black hole, but no blood seeped out.

Whitman saw her coming out of the corner of his eye. “Charlie…”

“Take care of the girl,” she said, as she flew past him. She put her forehead against Preach’s, and he screamed. She backed up as the blood pumped out of his wound.

“No,” he whispered. “It’s impossible. I don’t even see you. You’re no one. You’re nothing.”

“On the contrary,” Charlie said, “I’m everything you’re not.”